Choking
by snowontheroad
Summary: When an unpleasant part of his past comes back with him from Texas, Lucas stays silent, keeping that secret that had pained him for years. How do you convince the protector that he's worth protecting? [Warning: child abuse]
1. Chapter 1

_WARNING: This story contains depictions of_ _ **child abuse**_ _, as well as a slight reference to suicide. If you feel you may be triggered, this chapter is definitely not one to read._

 _Author's Note: Since we don't actually know much about Lucas' family, and what we do know is actually sort of depressing once you remove the laugh track, this story is to explore what could be. If I continue it, in all likelihood it will be gen; I'm not overly loyal to any one ship. Anyways, reviews and critiques are always appreciated!_

* * *

Texas had been one hell of a trip.

It was only when he finally shut the door behind him, finally shut the door on that state and all the memories that it brought, that Lucas felt he could finally take a breath. After the chaos and confusion the journey to Austin had wrought, that smoggy New York air felt fresh. He was home, he could finally sort out his emotions. For a moment, he just breathed in-

And then promptly had the air stolen from his lungs as a voice rang down the hall.

"Didn't stop to visit your old man, boy?"

Well, so much for relaxing. Lucas couldn't move. He couldn't breathe, he could hardly contort his facial expression from anything other than pure shock. Footsteps echoed closer, finally stopping just two feet away. Had he breathed yet? He didn't think so.

"I asked you a question, boy. Did you or did you not stop to visit your father?"

"No, sir."

Pure reflex was all that allowed anything to escape his paralyzed throat. He should be used to this, he reminded himself. This was nothing new. Time apart had just made him soft, made him weaker.

"Well color me surprised. After your little journey to un-tarnish the family name from your little failure, would've thought you'd've had the courtesy to at least say hello in person. Thought I taught you some damn manners."

"Sorry sir."

"Sorry's right, you little bastard. All that, just to hear good ol' Pappy Joe say you weren't a disgrace? To hear him say 'I love you'? Well, I got news for you, boy. He ain't ever said that to me, he ain't ever gonna say that to you. You hear that?"

"Yes sir."

He wasn't sure how any oxygen was reaching his racing heart. His lungs felt like they were filled with smoke, but if he coughed he knew it'd be a sob he ended up choking out.

"You fucked up so bad we had to move. And even then, when you'd think you would've learned, you still managed to fuck up worse. I had to send you across the country to escape the dirt you left behind. And you couldn't even pop in for a visit?"

"No, sir. Sorry sir."

"Always sorry, you are. Always makin mistakes and then apologizing as if it fixes things. All you've ever done is broke shit, son."

"S-sorry sir."

There was that cough: a cry breaking his words into a stutter.

"Look at that, already crying. Thought you were tough shit cause you could ride a bull for a few seconds? You can't do anything. Look at me."

He was, in fact, looking at the floor. He hadn't realized he had somehow managed to move to avert his gaze, and he wasn't sure he could do it again.

"I gave you an order, son."

As he struggled to raise his head, a sudden shock to his stomach forced him to bend over, an arm reflexively clutching his ribs.

"Guess you need some persuasion, boy. Look at me."

Straightening up took even more effort, but the casual reminder from the ache in his abdomen called to mind more distant pains, ones easily repeated. Lucas managed to get in one inhale, standing as tall as he could, eye to eye with his father. All he could see was his own eyes reflected back in the face of a man he hadn't seen since he was sent to an entirely different state.

He was all too aware of the solitary tear making its way down his cheek, and would've wiped it away if he wasn't sure any move would be a wrong one.

"I ain't going to be around long. I don't want to be reminded of you any more than I have to. Even when you came back to visit those so-called 'friends' of yours I pawned you off on whoever was willing to put up with your shit. However, it would appear that you need a little retraining when it comes to being polite. While I'm here you're going to do everything I tell you, when I tell you. I tell you to fuckin jump, you ask 'off what cliff?'. You think you can manage something that simple, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well would you look at that. We're already making progress. Now get your ass upstairs, clean up, and get down here for your re-introductory lesson."

"Yes, sir."

The fear and surprise finally made their way into useful energy, propelling him all the way up the stairs, only giving out as he collapsed against the bathroom door. That solitary tear wasn't so alone anymore, and his breathing was clouded with the sobs he was desperately trying to choke down. The Texas he thought he had left behind was back, and he didn't know what to do.


	2. Chapter 2

Nothing in his life seemed to be calming down now that he was back in New York. The arrival of his father had been accompanied by an inexplicable shift in group dynamics; he wasn't sure who liked him anymore, let alone who _he_ liked. The pressure of navigating the new roles with his friends was definitely not eased by the constant pressure of pretending everything was fine.

Everything was not fine. His father was in New York. That first bruise was still painted dark on his ribcage, joined by plenty of others he had earned, scattered in blooms across his entire body. Every movement was painful: stretching something that didn't want to be stretched, pressing on something that didn't want to be pressed. His own body was full of aches like landmines. He was _tired_ of navigating minefields. He still didn't know how to talk to Riley yet, now that they were 'siblings', and definitely felt like he had to choose his words carefully with Maya. He couldn't walk without every step reminding him of his father's lessons. He couldn't speak or act in his own house without first analyzing the potential consequences. He was just so _tired_.

Logically he knew that he should talk to someone. All it would take was a comment to Zay or his parents about his father being in town; the Babineauxs were familiar enough with the blood that they would understand, they would let him stay with them like they had sometimes in Texas (knocking on the door at midnight, claiming everything was fine with red still drying on his face). Another part of him- the part that reminded him that none of it would be happening in the first place if he wasn't such a fuck up- helpfully contributed that they were already having enough trouble with the relocation; they didn't need his burdens on top of their own.

That part was what kept him from telling anyone. Mr. Matthews was always there for anyone in the class, but telling him would mean explaining in excruciating detail what was happening, what had gone on for years, what he had caused by being a disgrace to his family. The shame he felt burned enough with every bruise, he didn't need to feel it from his teacher's disappointment.

He knew that if any of his friends were going through what he was going through or thinking how he was thinking he would jump to defend them instantly. He would never let anyone hurt Farkle, and he would never let Riley believe she deserved someone hurting her. Despite that, Lucas could only stare at himself in the mirror, wondering when this would finally be over. Exhaustion was creeping in his vision from all sides, and he didn't know how much longer he could stay awake.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Actual plot is starting, I promise. Thanks for the favorites/follows; they mean a lot! This is the first story I've written in a long time, so your support is greatly appreciated._

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It had been two months since his father had 'temporarily' relocated to New York, and Lucas still felt like he was suffocating every day. He was doing remarkably well with the whole tell no one policy; he doubted any of his friends had even an inkling anything was wrong. The onset of colder weather had reinstated flannels as a key part of his wardrobe, and they were effective at hiding the errant bruises on his arms. Thankfully his father had restrained from hitting him too hard on his face- "the only part of you worth anything"- which meant he hadn't had to lie about any unfortunate black eyes. All in all, Lucas was feeling relatively successful; it was just that he sort of felt like crying every time he moved or opened his mouth or saw Mr. Matthews smile at Riley.

He was fine.

Really.

Taking as steadying a breath as he could considering the weight on his chest, Lucas entered his history class. Despite its constant reminder of what a loving parent-child relationship looked like, history was one of the few hours of the day when he could honestly say he felt happy. Sure, it was draining and made reality hit all that much harder later, but seeing his friends made it infinitely worth it.

Riley and Maya were already entrenched in some sort of debate that sounded like it was mainly on the topic of whether or not it was morally acceptable to build a barricade to keep Mr. Matthews out of the classroom. Sliding gingerly into his seat, Lucas turned to Farkle.

"French Revolution?"

Farkle nodded eagerly. Lucas could only grin as the potential barricading victim walked through the distinctly non-barricaded doorway, effectively ending the argument. Maya threw her hands up in the air, turning back to face the front.

"Well now look what you've done. Didn't even have time to stack a few desks."

"Do I want to know?"

The class collectively shook their heads.

"Figures. Well, before we actually start class, I'm going to hand back your essays from the other week. I have to say, I'm very proud of how you all did."

Mr. Matthews set his briefcase down on his desk, pulling out the mentioned stack of red marked papers. While he set about returning them, the class resumed their previous conversations. A tap on Lucas' shoulder had him suppressing a flinch, grinning with a careful turn as he moved to face Zay.

"Hey man, my folks want you to stop by for dinner this week. Say they haven't seen enough of you these past few months, and they ain't wrong. You haven't had mama's food in a while, and you know how she feels about you missing out on a good meal."

Lucas' smile turned brittle as he fought against the sudden wave of guilt.

"I can't, I'm sorry."

He couldn't even come up with any sort of reason for turning down a visit. The fact he was in the first place already had Zay suspicious, as he raised a questioning eyebrow.

"What do you m-"

"Mr. Friar."

Zay's disbelief was cut off by the rather fortunate timing of Mr. Matthews. Lucas barely managed to keep his relief off his face as he shifted as quickly as he could.

"Yes sir?"

"Your essay."

All Lucas could see was the red. The marks decorating his paper may very well have been wounds on his already dwindling self-esteem.

"You should be very proud, you did incredibly well."

Lucas shot him an incredulous look before actually studying his paper. Sure enough, a large A was written at the top; all the red marks he had seen at first, scratched over the paper, were actually comments ranging from 'excellent thesis!' to 'solid analysis, demonstrates in depth understanding'.

"Keep up the good work, Lucas."

He could barely muster a nod. He felt pathetic, looking down at his essay with tears pricking at his eyes. That had been the first time in months he had heard praise from anyone, and it was nearly enough to overwhelm him. Thankfully, Mr. Matthews had moved on down the row, meaning he didn't see Lucas' shaking hands. Zay was momentarily distracted by his own essay, and, before he could return to his interrogation, class actually began.

 _-00000000-_

Lucas wasn't sure how he had managed to make it through the whole class, considering he could hardly pay attention. Mercifully, he hadn't been called on once; if he had been, he would have surely been unable to make a single word come out. Despite not being totally and utterly overwhelming, those few words of encouragement had certainly shaken him. The weight on his chest had moved solidly onto his neck, the emotions choking him. He knew he wouldn't be able to talk to Zay like this, so when the bell rang he bolted as quickly as he could; there was no way he would be able to explain why he couldn't come over when his throat was clamped tightly over the sobs in his lungs.

While Lucas got the hell out of dodge, Zay took his time. He knew there was no way he could catch up with his far more athletic best friend, and he had someone he needed to talk to.

"Mr. Matthews? Something's wrong with Lucas."


End file.
